


comfort

by Athina_Blaine



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Bonding, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Massage, cot shenanigans, martin being sassy, set in season 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-17 19:08:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28979394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Athina_Blaine/pseuds/Athina_Blaine
Summary: The tension in his jaw relaxed, as did his shoulders, down to his aching feet, and with every passing second he sunk deeper into the cot.Only a moment, only a moment, only a …In the bed, something shifted.“… Jon?”-Jon tries to get some rest.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 37
Kudos: 297





	comfort

**Author's Note:**

> For [chalroe.](https://chalroe.tumblr.com/)

Jon opened the door to the archives' back room, his other hand rolling out the twinge in his neck. His exhaustion had graduated to the level that statements blurred on the page. He had caught himself near collapsing onto his desk thrice in the last hour. There was nothing else for it; he wasn’t any use to anyone like this.

He'd go into the back room, he'd lie on the cot, and he'd close his eyes for a moment. Just a moment. Then he could get back to the investigation.

He slid off his jacket, hanging it haphazardly. He wasn’t sure why he kept wearing the thing— it was hardly comfortable and too thin to stave off the chill of the archives. Perhaps a leftover habit from his early days, when he had so desperately wanted to prove he could be professional, that he could show Elias he was capable of handling this opportunity given to him.

That shallow veneer of competence was quickly becoming the only thing Jon had left.

The backroom was swallowed in darkness, but Jon ignored the light switch. The fluorescence would just give him a headache at this point. Memory led him through the room, helping him to avoid that bloody bookshelf that always managed to stub his pinky toe, and he collapsed onto the squeaky cot, not bothering to kick off his shoes. Only a moment, he reminded himself. No point getting too comfortable.

His eyelids slid shut like stone weights, and it only took a few seconds of slowed breathing to reach that blissful edge of sleep. Ah, he’d forgotten to set an alarm, hadn’t he? No matter. He’d just have to get up before he was too far gone. He could do it. He was resting his eyes for only a moment, after all …

The tension in his jaw relaxed, as well as his shoulders, down to his aching feet, and with every passing second he sunk deeper into the cot.

_Only a moment, only a moment, only a …_

In the bed, something shifted.

“… Jon?”

Jon shot out of bed. His elbow cracked on the bookshelf and he doubled over, sucking in a sharp breath.

"Sorry!" Martin whispered as he scrambled upright, legs tangled in the bedsheets. Jon shook his head, trying to hold back a groan of pain.

“It’s fine,” he managed. “My apologies. I didn’t realise you were there.”

“Sorry,” Martin said, again. Jon could only barely make out Martin’s outline on the bed, fidgeting with the blankets. How could Jon have been so stupid to forget Martin would be there? The man had wished him a goodnight earlier that evening. Where else would he have been going? The _mart?_

A tangle of frustration swelled in his throat, and he swallowed it back down. At least this little fright had woken him up a touch. “Go back to sleep.” He reached for his jacket. “I’ll let you—”

“Oh, I don’t—!” Martin made to stand. “If you need the cot—”

“It’s alright. I only wanted to rest my eyes for a moment.”

Even as Jon said it, he took his time sliding on his jacket, waiting for … something. Martin to nag him, maybe. Bully him into bed, insist Jon needed to rest. But Martin only stared. Jon could see the faint glimmer of his wide eyes and the way his hands curled in the sheets.

A worm of shame wriggled in his chest. Here he was, hoping Martin would feel guilty enough to fork over the cot. How pathetic. Martin had been working just as hard as him and he deserved some rest, undisturbed by his prickly boss. Besides, Jon at least had a bed at home to go back to, if he felt so inclined.

But he really needed to get back to work.

As he turned for the door, though, a shot of pain tweaked through his back, and he winced.

“Are you okay?” Martin said, quick as a spring trap. Jon nodded, lips pressed in a tight thin line.

“I’m fine. Just a little neck pain.”

“Oh.” Pause. “Want me to take a look?”

Jon stopped. "You're a masseur?"

"Well, I mean, I took a few classes to help my mum a few years ago. If that counts." He shrugged, and then his lips tweaked. "My teacher said I was pretty decent, though."

Jon filed away this new bit of information. He reached for the door. “You can go back to sleep. I’ve disturbed you enough—”

“I don’t mind.” Martin’s tone had lightened, soft and deliberate. “Really. And, you know, it might help you focus better if your neck doesn’t hurt.”

That … was a good point, actually. Jon could get through his documents much faster if his focus wasn’t broken every three minutes by the dull twinge in his lower back.

Eyes narrowing, Jon turned around. He could make out Martin’s expression by now, face a carefully sculpted mask of gentle concern. His hands had stopped futzing with the bedsheets.

An amused huff escaped through Jon’s lips. “You’re a bit sneaky, do you know that?”

Martin’s eyebrows shot up. “What?”

“It’s a compliment,” Jon explained quickly, realising how that must have sounded. “Sorry, I … it’s just, you know people. You know what they want to hear.” Jon’s voice lowered. “It’s enviable. I can’t say it’s a skill I’ve ever possessed in great quantity, myself.”

“Um. Thank you.”

Jon picked at his cuticles. He’d been chewing his nails again, almost to the nub; he needed to stop doing that. It had always driven his grandmother insane. He glanced out of the corner of his eyes, and Martin was still waiting, expecting his answer.

“… you really don’t mind?”

“Wouldn’t offer if I did, would I?”

Slowly, Jon took his jacket back off and hung it on the coat rack, trying not to think too hard about what it was he was agreeing to. He approached the bedside and Martin cleared his throat, moving to the edge of the cot.

"Right. Um. Why don't we try …?" He patted the space next to him. "Here?"

Instead of answering, Jon took a seat. Martin shifted behind him, his knee brushing Jon’s hip. Had the cot always been so small? How had Jon not fallen on top of him when he’d collapsed onto it? The only logical explanation was that Martin must have curled up in the absolute furthest corner of the mattress. Something about that image made Jon’s chest twinge.

Lost in his musings, his pulse jumped sharply as hands slid over his shoulders.

_It’s only Martin, it’s only Martin, it’s only Martin, it’s only—_

Even as he told himself to relax, took steady breaths, his heartbeat still thrummed in his throat, erratic. Jon wasn’t touched by people very often, certainly not in such a vulnerable place. The last time had been when Martin had held down his limbs as he gouged burrowing worms out of his skin.

A cold shudder ran through him, and Martin paused.

“Okay?”

Forcing his breathing back under control, Jon nodded. “Just … a little strange.”

“Oh.”

A part of Jon expected Martin to call the whole thing off, but he merely slid his hands lower, just under his shoulder blades. He thumbed the dips of his spine and Jon shuddered again. “Better?”

Oh. Pressing his lips together, Jon nodded again. Martin hummed, continuing to massage him. Not strong enough to cause pain, but enough to work out the tension still present. Jon sighed, letting his shoulders roll back.

_It’s only Martin._

After some time, Martin hissed through his teeth. “Christ, I think I’ve used cutting boards less stiff than you.”

Jon went rigid with surprise and Martin stopped.

“Sorry, that was— I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine,” Jon said, trying to hold back a laugh. Martin’s tone had just been so offhanded and _snarky_. Was he always like this?

Martin dragged the balls of his palms down the length of Jon’s spine and Jon arched, biting back a groan. Oh, that felt _weird._

“Yeah, um, this might work better if you’re lying down? If that’s okay with you.”

Jon swallowed. His back exposed, facing away from the door …

_It’s only Martin. He wants to help you. He wants …_

Slowly, Jon settled lengthwise onto the cot, head settling on the pillow. The fabric smelled like … coconut? Martin’s shampoo? It certainly wasn't Jon's, he never felt brave enough to buy the fruity soaps.

Martin had stood, and Jon cleared his throat. “Should I take my shirt off?”

“No!” Martin squeaked and Jon jumped. “I mean, no, that’s— this should be enough.”

“I see,” Jon murmured, grateful the darkness hid his heating face. He didn’t even know what compelled him to suggest that; it had just seemed sensible.

Then, Martin’s hands returned to his back, working over the area just over his tailbone. Jon tried to keep his eyes open, lest he was tempted to fall away into the soft mattress. Thankfully, Martin would occasionally find a particularly ornery tangle of muscle, tweaking a thread of pain through Jon’s back and waking him right back up. He could almost feel Martin’s displeasure as he worked over those tight knots, made all the more apparent when he’d occasionally kiss his teeth in frustration.

Why did Jon feel like he was failing some sort of test? He plucked at the fraying threads of the pillow.

“I’ve perhaps not been exercising the best posture,” he murmured, earning himself a snort.

“No kidding.” There was that snark again, positively _tart_ this time. “Not entirely your fault, though. You ever think about getting a new chair? You know, one that’s comfortable? With good lumbar support? I always look at that office chair of yours and I think, ‘wow, you’d have to pay me to sit there.’ I mean, you know, more than I’m already paid.”

Jon’s lips twitched. “Unfortunately, I don’t think a new chair is in the budget.”

“The _budget_ ,” Martin said, with so much scorn that Jon couldn’t entirely smother a chuckle. “Elias can afford that stupid painting in his office, he can fork over £30 for a memory foam cushion. We can run to the mart together sometime and Elias can stuff it.”

Jon hid his smile into the pillow. “Doctor’s orders?”

Martin laughed, a soft, breathy thing, and a little pulse of pride lit Jon’s chest at the sound. It wasn’t very often he got people to laugh.

They fell into silence again, though it was more comfortable now. With some work, Martin had managed to loosen the knot in his left shoulder, and Jon sighed at the relief that coursed through him. After a while, Martin rubbed his hands up and down Jon’s back, soothing and deliberate. It felt less like the touch of a masseur, paid to undo the damage he willfully inflicts on himself, and more like … well, like the way Georgie used to rub his back when it all started becoming a bit too much.

Was that the last time anyone had touched him like this? Gentle and purposeful? Something more than brushing hands over a cup of tea?

“… I wish you wouldn’t work so hard.”

Jon blinked, startled awake from his musings. Martin's hands had slowed, rubbing a small circle in the centre of his back, right over his lungs. Jon had to fight not to slip away, to hold onto the sound of Martin's soft voice.

“Sorry,” Martin whispered. “I know … it’s not really my place or anything. It’s just hard to see you like this. You know, I went to your office the other day and you were staring into your cup and your eyes …” A small sigh. “You looked like you weren’t really there. Not all the way.”

Jon couldn't recall this occurring, but the days had started to unhelpfully blend. He knew he was pushing himself. Obviously. It was enough, though. Jon knew his own limits. It was _enough_ , at least to get him through—

“The investigation is important, I know,” Martin said, the sound of his voice little more than a wing beat. "But you're important, too."

Something in the back of Jon's eyes had started to burn, tangling the pit of his throat. He pressed his lips together, swallowed it back so that Martin wouldn't know. So he wouldn’t see Jon like this.

“Sorry,” Martin whispered again.

 _Don't be_ , Jon wished he could say.

Jon couldn't pinpoint when he drifted off. Martin said something, but it sounded far away like they were both underwater. He heard the door quietly click shut.

And then, he was awake, snapping up, the blanket sliding off him. His shoes had been taken off. How long had he been out? Scrambling, he reached for the light on the table’s end, wincing as the light burned his eyes. He scanned for the digital clock and let out a slow breath of relief. 4 AM. He couldn’t have been out for more than an hour.

He fell back onto the cot, giving his heart a chance to resume its normal pace. He couldn't believe he let himself drift off like that. How embarrassing. He lifted a hand, reaching for the light when his hand brushed a bit of paper left on the pillow. He plucked it up.

_Sleep well!_

The exclamation point was dotted with a small heart. It was Martin’s handwriting. Of course. Who else would it be?

Just a writing quirk, Jon thought, despite his warming face. Probably best not to overthink it. He looked over at the clock and could see his shoes lined neatly by the wall.

He … needed to get back to work. He shouldn’t have fallen asleep at all, much less for so long.

 _You’re important, too_.

He fidgeted with the note between his fingertips, wiggling his toes. Had Martin seen his paw print patterned socks when he’d taken off his shoes? Not likely, considering how dark it was. Well, thank god for that. He was beginning to suspect that Martin could be incredibly sardonic if given the opportunity; the teasing would be relentless.

Maybe … it wouldn’t hurt to sleep for a few more hours. At least until the Institute officially opened, that way Martin wouldn’t have to be so worried about him. They really needed to wheel a second cot in here, budget be damned. Martin could tease him about his paw print patterned socks, and then they could fall asleep together.

He let his eyes slip close and fell away.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on tumblr [@athina-blaine](https://athina-blaine.tumblr.com/).


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